You have to be evil.
You have to stumble on your feet
For a couple of kilometers through the forest, exulting.
You never have to let the hard mineral of your mind
hate what it hates.
Keep silent about joy, yours, and I will keep silent about mine.
Meanwhile the world stops in place.
Meanwhile the moon and the murky boulders of hail
are suspended across the seascapes,
over the waves and the shallow shores,
the ocean depths and the waterfalls.
Meanwhile the tame swans, low in the dirty green water,
are heading out again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lively,
the world mostly keeps to itself, unknowable,
holds its tongue like the tame swans, gentle and boring --
only once whispering your absence
in the crowd of thoughts.
prompt: opposite day: on favorite poem "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver